Nassau 1710
"Mr. Noonan," a young girl says. "Mr. Noonan," she repeats when she receives no answer from the man mulling over his accounts. The man turns, ready to slap the bothersome whore when he sees three, tall men flanking the girl. The women watching from above roll their eyes at how quickly Mr. Noonan's hand wilts from its striking pose.
"A friend persuaded our captain to visit Nassau." The leader, a tall, bearded blonde man opens a fist at Noonan's eye level. Eyes from all floors of the brothel notice two things at once.
Mr. Noonan's expression is terrifying. The man hasn't salivated like this since Max turned fifteen and suggested charging patrons for watching the girls service themselves (or others). The higher the price, the large the peephole you got.
"Welcome to Nassau," Mr. Noonan says, unable to tear his eyes from the rock in the man's hand. "Any room you want," Mr. Noonan adds, taking the rough into his hands.
And amidst the fervor growing below, all but one of the girls begin committing the rock to memory. Max squints from an upper railing.
"Max, they're asking for you," a girl calls from below.
"They?" Max says. She swears she has a no groups deal with Mr. Noonan. She takes the bottle offered to her and downs a shot or so.
"First time for everything, love," Mrs. Mapleton chirps, hustling Max along.
"Just relax," an older girl whispers, pressing a tin of an unknown oily substance into Max's hands.
"Well aren't you the sweetest sight I've seen in a year." Blue eyes sweep over Max as she enters the room. "Octavio," he says, bowing deeply.
"Well boys, I'm here to ensure each of you the warmest Nassau welcome. But we will have to take turns," Max says. She smiles at Octavio, ignoring the other sets of eyes raking over her as she moves to pour a cup of wine. From her peripheral vision she counts exactly three men.
"Well, we do believe in sharing everything equally," Octavio says, loosening the wide leather band at his waist.
"Yes, but does seniority not mean anything to your men?" Max asks, holding out a cup of wine.
"What do you think, men?" Octavio smiles at his friends. Octavio tosses his belt towards the bed. The doors slam open.
"I'm not interrupting, am I?" Tristan asks, slamming the doors shut behind her. Max realizes with great relief that Octavio's pants remain up, though his weapons lay on the bed sheets, dirtying them with black grease and God knows what else. "Enough!" Tristan says waving off her friends. The young men break into laughter.
"Funny," Max says. "You are alive."
"And you are still in business," Tristan says.
"It seems so," Max says.
"Listen, if you're serious about doing business, you have to be smarter about things, little girl," Octavio says, striding right into Max's personal space. She finds herself staring into his chest, the top of her head a finger's width under his pectorals. The constant twinge of pain in her feet confirm that she's in raised footwear.
"What he means is, don't ever go into a room full of strange men alone again." Tristan slaps Octavio in the shoulder roughly with an open palm. "Tavio. Fucking behave." Octavio allows the next shove to push him back.
"Men?" Octavio says, snatching the wine pitcher from the table. "Let's give the ladies a minute," he says, motioning for the men to follow him onto the balcony. Max watches as they clear out of the room.
"Charming," Max says.
"He's right though. You're still so green," Tristan says. "Worry more for yourself than the gold."
"Easy to say when the two are so clearly separated for you," Max says.
The room is quiet for a moment as the statement sinks in. Tristan coughs and leans on the edge of the bed. Max watches with interest as she unfolds a stiff wad of linen wrapped parchment. Tristan holds out a pile of tumbled stones in her palm. "From the Portuguese colonies down south. Four to six thousand."
"Mon Dieu,"Max whispers.
"A piece." Tristan fixes a hard look on her.
"What?" Max asks.
"If you give everything away, you will never leave a deal the beneficiary." Tristan frowns. "Just. A card game or something."
"Ok! What do you want me to do?" Max asks, growing annoyed.
"Find a buyer." Tristan says. Max opens a cabinet door, covering a peephole from the next room. Tristan watches as she stuffs a rag into the opening for good measure. "Nice. How much is the going rate for a room with a view?" Tristan asks.
"Ta gueule!" Max says, pulling Tristan towards the other end of the room. "This isn't just a little bit of opium." Octavio watches their exchange from the balcony.
"So isn't it about time you increased your product range?," Tristan says. "How about this. On top of your broker's fee, the boys and I will buy you out for a week. All you have to do is help us sort this out. You don't have to fuck any of us if you don't want to." Tristan ignores the disappointed glares coming at her from the balcony.
"But, Mr. Noonan," Max says.
"Fuck 'im!" Octavio yells through the shutters on the balcony.
"We'll handle him," Tristan says. "Look. If this is above your pay grade, we can find someone else."
"Non," Max says. "I'm the girl for the job."
A setting sun fills Eleanor's office with light. Stacks of orders and accounts overflow from Eleanor's desk. Richard Guthrie's departure, while a delight, has flooded Eleanor's carefree life with non stop calls to meetings and exchanges. Mr. Scott shuffles a stack of deposit slips recovered from the space behind Eleanor's chair.
"It's been quite a season." Mr. Scott smiles as he skims through numbers.
"Yes, and thank God the transition has been smooth, thus-far," Eleanor says. A light knock at the door catches Mr. Scott's ear.
"Who is it?" Mr. Scott calls.
"One of Noonan's girls. For Ms. Guthrie," a says, voice muffled by the door.
"Really Ms. Guthrie. I doubt your father would appreciate you hosting such company in the office." A blushes spreads on Eleanor's cheeks.
"Mr. Scott, isn't there a delivery of sugar coming in about now?" Eleanor says.
"I'll see to it," Mr. Scott says, fixing Eleanor with a patronizing look.
Max sits at a table, waiting for Eleanor to emerge from the office. A voice jolts her from her thoughts.
"So, what's this pretty little bird doing out of her cage?" Vane's voice creeps over Max's shoulder.
"Sorry. I've been told not to work with men from your crew," Max says.
"Really? Who would say such a thing?" Vane asks.
"Anyone with a sane mind," Eleanor says, descending down the stairs.
"Coming from the crazy bitch who runs this town," Vane says with a smile. Max internally cringes at the admiration in his voice.
"What can I do for you?" Eleanor says, waving Max up the stairs.
"The question is, what can I do for you?" Vane asks. Eleanor blushes, catching the end of a particularly wordy curse in French coming from Max.
"You can go," Eleanor say, offering him a crude gesture. "A horse," Eleanor says from the railing, translating the tail end of Max's words.
"I could. But. I've grown tired of playing with myself," Vane says.
"Come on," Eleanor says, pushing Max towards her office. "Not that I don't thoroughly enjoy your company, but what are you doing here Max?" Eleanor says, locking her office doors."I can't believe Noonan let you off the leash tonight." It doesn't go unnoticed that this is the first time Eleanor and Max have been alone in her office.
"Well, that is just the thing," Max says. She quickly moves to the Guthrie's extensive liquor cabinet. She fetches a cup and pours generously from the bottle of cachaça Tristan left in her room. She crumbles several chunks of brown rock sugar into the drink with a generous squeeze of lime. "My services have been reserved by a crew. For the week," Max says. "And judging by the amount they paid, Noonan's quite happy with letting me work out of house."
"Are you insane? This is how girls are taken every time a new crew stops here," Eleanor says, gripping Max's shoulders in her hands. Growing up in Nassau, Eleanor could fill a two story library with all the horror stories she's heard about how men on ships and pretty young girls don't mix.
"Wait. There's more," Max says, pushing Eleanor into a chair. She swings a leg over, gracefully settling in Eleanor's lap. "I have a proposition for you," Max says, pressing a cup into Eleanor's hands. Eleanor takes a large gulp, trying not stare at the blossoming wells of tan breast in her face. A mixture of burning and sweetness seizes Eleanor's throat as she swallows. Max places a piece of the rock sugar on Eleanor's lip, allowing her thumb to linger for a moment longer than either expected.
"I'm listening," Eleanor says, holding the sweet crystal on her tongue.
"I know someone who needs to sell something very valuable. And you're the best person for dealing with such things," Max says.
"And why haven't they come to me directly?" Eleanor asks, the business side of her brain firing up. She sits up in the chair, throwing Max off kilter. Max quickly grabs on to Eleanor's shoulder.
"We're dealing with something of high value. Something the pirates here would kill for in a heart beat," Max says, watching Eleanor's face grow lost in thought. She slips off Eleanor's lap and moves to her back. "I think privacy is something they're willing to pay for." Max's strong fingers work magic on Eleanor's tense shoulders.
"And what are the goods exactly," Eleanor asks, slowly warming under Max's hands.
"Ten to twenty thousand pesos you can fit in the palm of your hand," Max says, concentrating on Eleanor's neck.
"And you know this deal is real?" Eleanor says. Eleanor pulls away from Max's touch. "Max. How well do you know this contact?" She spins around in her seat to meet Max's eyes.
"As well as I know any of my contacts," Max says, raising an eyebrow. "If you are interested," Max says, pulling a small pouch from her corset. "A deposit," Max says, pressing the heavy pouch into Eleanor's hand. Eleanor runs a thumb across the fabric. The telltale shapes of gold bullion glide under her fingers.
"What's in it for you?"
"Depends on the deal," Max says. She looks out at the water from the window as she pours herself a drink. The sun stretches along the horizon, holding on to the last minutes of day with the tips of its rays.
"And if it's no good?" Eleanor asks with a challenge in her voice.
"Then at the very least I have a week 'off the leash' as you say," Max says.
"Well," Eleanor says. "That, I can drink to."
Max smiles and clicks her glass to Eleanor's before drinking deeply. Eleanor looks down, savoring the warmth running down her throat. A soft thumb brushes against her lip. Max's fingers pull Eleanor's mouth up to receive the piece of rock sugar wrapped in a thin slice of lime held in her lips. Max pulls back, holding a finger to Eleanor's lips as she crushes the parcel with a few decisive bites. Eleanor stands from the chair, surprising Max. Something clicks in Eleanor's mind as she pulls her into a kiss. Teeth and jagged crystals scrape over lips and tongues as their embrace intensifies.
Fingers slip into Max's hair as they stagger across the office. The hard edge of the desk knocks into the back of Max's thighs. Eleanor lifts her onto the heavy wood with ease. Wedging between her thighs, Eleanor's hands fly to up to Max's corset. Her fingers get lost in a tight tangle of thread. Frustrated with Eleanor's progress on the corset, Max pulls the fabric down. Max reaches out and grips Eleanor's neck. A wet warmth grows between Eleanor's thighs as Max pull her to lips to impossibly soft nipples. Max watches with hooded eyes as Eleanor's lips open, taking her in. Max bucks against Eleanor's hip as her tongue starts moving.
"Ms. Guthrie!" A voice calls from behind the door. "Mr. Scott is waiting for you at the docks to receive payment from Captain Chesterfield!"
"Fuck," Eleanor groans, pulling back from Max. She bites her lip at the sight of Max, hair tousled, breathing hard with wet nipples spilling from her corset.
"Ms. Guthrie?!"
"Coming!" Eleanor yells, unable to tear herself from Max.
"Go," Max says, looking at the door. Eleanor nods, quickly fixing her hair and dress. With a quick kiss, she's out the door, hoping everyone (Mr. Scott) won't notice exactly how drunk (just a bit) and horny (unbearably so) she is.
The long grass blows in the wind. Vane crouches, hidden in the dry grass. His eyes sweep the beach methodically. Eleanor, Mr. Scott, and the resident "precious goods" expert gather around the edge of the dirt road leading into the far side of the island. He watches as they make their way towards a wrecked skiff, half embedded in the sand. A faint glow flickers from beyond the rotting wood.
Down near the shore, Eleanor finds Octavio sitting on the sand besides a small fire. A pile of stones sit on a handkerchief, glittering lowly in the light. He smiles and waves for her to join him. She gathers her skirts and sits, crossing her legs.
"What the hell is this?" Eleanor says. She reaches out and picks a pea sized rough from the cloth on sand.
"Emeralds," Octavio says. He motions for the expert to examine the goods. "This is just a sample. I will have ten times this amount by the end of the month."
Mr. Scott and the spectacled expert exchange several hushed whispers. He nods at Eleanor.
"I have interest in the goods. However, it may take a while to find a buyer of this magnitude," Eleanor says, studying Octavio's face.
"How long?" Octavio asks.
"Could be a day, could be a week could be a month."
"Fair." Octavio stands, reaching out to help Eleanor up.
"And the collateral?" Eleanor asks, taking his hand.
"Well," Octavio says, rubbing his beard. "We'll take a ship."
Vane watches as Eleanor and Octavio shake hands before parting ways on the beach. Octavio unhitches a tiny skiff in the moonlight and quickly disappears from view. Eleanor's group returns to the horses tied to the coconut trees near the trail back into town. He quickly moves to follow when a movement across the sand catches his eye.
"How much do you think we can get for those?" Eleanor says, pulling herself up onto the saddle.
"Depends on if you're willing to wait," Mr. Scott says. "The Fortress will be here in a month or so. She sails to London at least twice a year and we know well enough the English pay premium for this sort of thing."
"And in the mean time, if an attractive offer comes up, who's to say no to anything?" Eleanor smiles as they embark on the ride back into town.
Less than five minutes into the journey, Mr. Scott holds up a hand. The horses pause as Mr. Scott scans the deserted path. "Eleanor," Mr. Scott says, motioning for her to be on the lookout. Eleanor realizes with dismay that they're near the crossroads to the Wrecks. Among Nassau's finest murders and rapes, about ninety percent of them occurred near the vicinity of the Wrecks. Two men step into the road, barring their path.
"Well, it seems like someone's lost." A man with his front teeth missing smiles at his companion.
"It looks it, doesn't it." The companion with a long scruffy beard nods. He pulls a long, battle worn cutlass from his scabbard.
"The goods, please." The man flashes a toothless smile at Eleanor, followed by a wink.
"You boys must be new in town," Vane says, stepping from the shadows. "Don't you know who this is?"
"We don't care." Both men nod. The toothless one spins a boarding pickaxe in his hands with anticipation. Vane smiles at the men. He strolls up to Eleanor and rests a hand on her knee.
"Which goods exactly were in discussion?" Van asks, hand traveling down her leg. She leans discreetly to the side, taking her weight off the dagger stashed in her riding boot.
"Fuck off," Eleanor says loudly. Vane hides the blade in his palm as he saunters back to the two newest members of Nassau's community.
"It's your night my friend," Vane says, throwing an arm around the toothless man. "Who first? The nigger or-," Vane stops speaking mid sentence as he grips the man's neck in his arm.
In a fluid motion, Vane slides the blade up through his chin into his throat. Yanking the blade from the underside of the pirate's skull, he drops the body. Vane turns to find Mr. Scott launching himself at the other man from the saddle of his horse. They crash to the dusty ground together in a tumble of limbs. Mr. Scott's hands finds a large, particularly jagged pieces of rock. The sound of a wet smack fills Eleanor's ears. His hand falls once more, mashing skull with an expertise Eleanor wishes she hadn't witnessed.
"You were following me?" Eleanor says, staring at Vane.
"You're welcome," Vane says, wiping the blood from Eleanor's knife on his pant leg before offering the handle to Eleanor. She reaches out for the knife when a rifle goes off. A shot hurtles through the air, missing her by inches. Vane reaches up to calm Eleanor's horse as it threatens to throw her. Two figures tumble into the road ahead. Tristan quickly rolls to her feet, wishing her tackle of the gunman went off smoother. She pulls a heavy dagger from her waist as she kneels on the man's neck. Holding his forehead to the ground, she severs his windpipe and vocal chords with a practiced push of the blade. She vanishes into the shadows off the main trail before anyone can reach her.
"I think it's time we get back into town," Mr, Scott says when he catches up to the body slumped in the dirt. He quickly rolls the body over to save Eleanor from the blood soaked shirt.
"We would appreciate it if you accompanied us to town," Mr. Scott says before Eleanor can speak.
"Certainly. It seems wise to travel in a group tonight," Vane says, eyes locked on Eleanor.
Several minutes after the trail grows dark and silent, Tristan emerges from the shadows. She quickly returns to the lookout point where she found the shooter. Several paces off the path,
a low whistle catches her ear. Tristan returns the calls in the dark. A slender, blonde young man from her crew emerges from the shadows.
"Caio," Tristan says approaching him. She glances behind him to see two more bodies in the shadows. One man lies, head lolling at a sharp angle. A rusted saber juts from the chest of the other. "We have to clean up."
"Where's my brother?" Caio asks. He grasps a corpse's ankles and drags him into the shadows.
"Tavio's doubling back. The captain will want to know tonight," Tristan says, kicking away the spots of blood stained sand and dirt.
"Do you think the deal is good?" Caio says, searching corpse's pockets.
"You can never say until the gold's in your hand, can you?"
The lights and sounds of a festive town glow in the near distance. Vane slows his pace and falls back to Eleanor's horse
"Eleanor," Vane says, reaching out to grab Eleanor's reins.
"Thank you for helping us tonight, Charles," Eleanor says, pausing to face Vane. She motions for Mr. Scott to retire for the night.
"You know I would do it again in a heartbeat," Vane says, stepping in close. Eleanor breaks her gaze away from Vane. The flickering light from Max's temporary suite catches her eye.
"Hopefully that won't be needed," Eleanor says with a nervous smile.
"Hopefully," Vane admits. "Now, will you finally allow me to buy you a drink?" Vane asks, glancing at the tavern.
"One." Eleanor turns on her heels and marches towards the tavern. Vane smiles, pleased with himself. He watches as Eleanor rushes up the stairs to her office, in a hurry to lock away whatever it is she received from the large man on the beach, no doubt.
Max sighs, tired of watching the tavern. Eleanor's office remains dark and locked. The gentle lull of crashing waves pulls Max from her thoughts. She throws a light veil over her hair before heading towards the beach. Max smiles behind the veil as she passes unnoticed through the streets of Nassau. Before she knows it, the town's lights are mere speckles in the distance. A splash catches her attention. Max quietly peeks around a cluster of boulders on the beach. Out in the shallows, Tristan stands, with her back to land.
"Are you clean enough yet?" Max calls from the sand.
"How long have you been there?" Tristan asks, wading in.
"Wouldn't you like to know," Max says, watching Tristan wring her shirt before shrugging back into the material. "Should we find you a hot bath?" Max asks. Water drips noisily into the sand as Tristan gives her hair a final squeeze.
"That would be nice."
"Idelle and the others are going to be jealous," Max says, running her fingers through the steaming water. The large copper tub sitting in the middle of the room sloshes with water as Max empties the final bucket.
"Why?" Tristan asks, turning her back to Max. "I'm sure Noonan would be happy to run hot baths all day if it meant paid bathing shows," Tristan says, pulling off her damp clothing. She lowers herself into the bath, slowly easing into the steaming water.
"I'll 'ave to talk to him about it," Max says.
"What the hell are you doing?" Tristan asks in alarm when a foot lands between her knees.
"Don't worry," Max says, noticing the panic growing in Tristan's eyes. Max smiles, slipping into the crowded tub, choosing to turn her back to the other girl out of what she thinks is courtesy. "I'm not charging you for this," Max says, closing her eyes.
"How generous of you," Tristan mutters. Tristan fidgets while Max makes herself comfortable in the small container.
"Hush," Max says. A surprisingly firm hand reaches down and squeezes Tristan's ankle. It's quiet for a moment before Tristan reaches for the soap and begins lathering Max's shoulders. Max's head sags as skilled hands set to easing her tensions.
"You saved my life. You didn't have to."
"It was nothing," Max says. She leans forwards, welcoming the heat washing over her skin.
"No." Tristan's voice is hard. She drops the soap in the water to grab Max's hand. She presses Max's fingers to the puncture scar on her abdomen. "It was something." Tristan releases her hand and leans back, resting her head on the edge of the tub. Max runs her fingers over the scar tissue, feeling the skin dip under her touch.
"One more, Eleanor!" Vane and the crowd of men chant, slamming mugs on the wooden table. "One more!" Vane laughs in triumph as Eleanor tosses back another two fingers of rum. Her blood boils as the excitement of the night well up inside her. A cheer goes up as she finishes her eighth drink of the night.
"Ah! Fuck all your moms!" Eleanor shouts, slamming her glass to the table. She hisses in pain when the glass splinters under her hand. Blood wells up in a long slice across her palm. As the tavern grows louder, Eleanor quickly wraps her hand in her dress. Seizing an opportunity, Eleanor makes a quick exit as soon as Vane returns to the bar for another round.
Obnoxious knocking rouses Max from her light slumber. She sits up, realizing she's fallen asleep in the bath. Tristan yawns, waking under Max's movements.
"Max?" Eleanor's voice calls through the door. Max clambers from the tub and pulls a robe on. Tristan groggily follows suite, extending tire limbs from the cooling water. Her clothes hit her in the face as Max frantically gathers her belongings.
"One moment," Max says, pointing Tristan towards the shutters leading onto the balcony outside. Tristan scowls, sleepily gathering her clothing. The locks clicks loudly in the quiet night as Max opens the door. Eleanor stands, leaning heavily against the doorframe. O'Malley lingers down the hall. He catches Max's eye and nods. Max returns the nod with a cordial smile.
"What are you doing?" Eleanor asks, glancing in the candle lit room. Max turns to find an empty room.
"Eleanor!" Max says, noticing the blood dripping from Eleanor's hand. "What the hell are you doing?" She pulls Eleanor into the room and sits her on the bed. Eleanor watches as Max flits around the room, lighting several more candles.
"Accident," Eleanor says, dizzy from drink and blood loss. She lies down, holding out her dripping hand above the wood floor.
"Doing what?" Max asks. She gingerly rinses the blood stained hand. To her relief, the slash is shallow and clean .
"Something stupid." Eleanor sighs. "Remind me to never drink with Vane again."
"You were drinking with Vane?" Max says, displeasure clear in her voice.
"He sort of saved my life tonight," Eleanor slurs. "The least I could do was let him buy me a drink."
"A drink or ten?" Max says, wrapping her hand.
"Are, are you mad?" Eleanor asks. She rolls to her side faces Max. "I'm sorry," Eleanor says. She cups Max's cheek and leans in for a kiss.
"Stop," Max snaps, shoving Eleanor away.
"I thought. I thought you like me," Eleanor says, too drunk to hear herself.
"I do. But-," Max says.
"But what?" Eleanor asks.
"You've been drinking the night away with Vane," Max says, tying off the bandage.
"What's your problem with him?" Eleanor asks.
"I have no problem with him. I have a problem with the way you act around him," Max says.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Eleanor asks.
"He's been after you for a while now. You need to decide what you want with 'im," Max says. "Is not fair to keep 'im on your leash."
"He's a dirty pirate," Eleanor says, voice dismissive.
"And what am I? You don't seem to mind my company, yet you know exactly what it is I do for a living."
"It's different," Eleanor says. She sits up and grabs Max's hand. "Max." Max allows Eleanor to pull her close. "Max please," Eleanor says. She closes her eyes as Max's hands cup her face. Max places a soft kiss on her lips, ignoring the waves of alcohol pouring off her with each breath.
"Go to sleep, mon cher. Max will be here in the morning," Max says, walking Eleanor to the door. "Can you make sure she gets home safe? And alone?" Max says to O'Malley. He nods, throwing Eleanor's arm over his shoulder.
"I thought it would be wise to stick around," O'Malley says, propping Eleanor up. Although the Guthrie name and financial standing had influence, O'Malley's always looked after Eleanor like a sister, since before she, in her words, 'sprouted tits'. Next to Mr. Scott, Max wouldn't trust anyone else with an intoxicated Eleanor.
"Thank you." Max manages a tired smile.
"Night Max."
"Good night," Max says. She watches him make his way down the stairs with Eleanor. Max shuts the door, content with Eleanor's safety. "Not a word," Max snaps as Tristan pushes the shutters open. She throws a rag at the soaking girl. Max watches as Tristan towels off. "I'm sorry," Max says, gesturing at the door.
"We need to speak about your friend," Tristan says carefully.
"What about her?" Max asks, tensing.
"She told her boyfriend about the meet," Tristan says.
"Vane is not her boyfriend," Max says too quickly. Tristan notes the sudden change in Max's demeanor at the mention of Vane. She decides not to pursue the topic.
"Either way, her loose lips almost got her killed tonight." Tristan says. "Consider who you trust very carefully," Tristan says quietly. "And who you're willing to put in danger for money."
Nassau 1715
Rackham's heart thunders in his chest, picking up speed with every step he takes. He stares at the back of Hamund's head, wondering if he or any of the others can hear his pulse taking off like a race horse. The stench of decay and saltwater fills his nose. His stomach drops completely when Anne disappears around the corner. The sound of sharpened metal entering flesh begins to fills the air.
It's several moments later when Rackham realizes the men behind him have vanished. He stumbles as he moves to find Anne. He pauses in the shadows, watching as Anne, O'Malley and a few others set to wiping the blood from her weapons. Rackham freezes when Anne spots him in the darkness. He turns, unable to look at her.
Anne turns to find Tristan stumbling into the bloody clearing. Her hair hangs wild and loose, ripped from its leather ties. Blood, shiny and thick coats her arms up to her elbows. Anne wonders with admiration if Tristan went with her bare hands tonight. O'Malley turns and smiles warmly. They both reach out with an arm, grasping each other's forearms tightly before hugging. O'Malley reaches out and grips the back of Tristan's neck tightly. 'It's over,' he mouths, waiting for Tristan to nod before letting go.
The brothel sleep quiet tonight. The balcony's floorboards creak softly under bare feet. Tristan leaves her bloodied boots by the shutter doors as she sneaks into Max's room. Panic wells in her chest when she sees nothing but an empty bed. A pained mewl breaks the deafening silence. Max lies, curled in the corner of the room besides an empty bath basin. Tristan quickly pulls a blanket from the bed to cover her exposed skin, the girl's cold to the touch. In the morning, Max will wake in her bed, finally with someone else's blood staining the sheets.
**Octavio=Chris Hemsworth
**Caio= Charlie Hunnan
Comments are always appreciated!